Detention
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Preseries. As a senior in high school, Tim gets detention. Oneshot. Written, mistakenly, for the NFA School challenge.


**A/N:** I wrote this initially for the NFA School challenge, but I only noticed after finishing the story that it was supposed to be set in elementary school. So, I had to write another one. However, I still like this one; so I kept it. It is set pre-series and is (typically) McGee-centric.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the character of Timothy McGee. He's only mine in my dreams. :)

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**Detention**

_2:50 p.m._

I really hate that I'm required to run after-school detention this year. This is only my second year of teaching and I don't think it's fair that I have to deal with all the juvenile delinquents. Just because I'm the gym teacher doesn't make me some sort of expert in handling them. Most of the jocks know better than to get detention anyway because if I see their name on my list, their names will be mud as far as participating in athletics is concerned.

The office aide has just placed the list in the box outside my office. At least it's only one page this time. Last month there was a huge food fight in the cafeteria with the result that I was forced to run detention in the _auditorium_. If it hadn't been for the fact that the temperatures dropped to about -20, I would have made them run laps outside for the entire two hours. ...maybe I should have done it anyway. They certainly would have been a lot less willing to fool around if they knew that was waiting for them.

I sigh and walk to the door to get the list. It's hearteningly short today: only five names. I review them to see if I know the students. The school is large enough that I don't know them all by name yet. _Louis Dietrich_, a popular kid, senior, _Jillian Brown_, his girlfriend (big surprise), _Jonathan Tolano_, JV football player (big trouble... for him), _Russell Jackson_, Louis's best friend (another big surprise), and... I reread the final name twice more before accepting that it is really there, _Timothy McGee_. Why in the world would Timothy McGee be in detention? Beyond his utter lack of athletic skills, this kid is harmless. The most danger he posed was when we did archery in P.E. last year and he nearly took off my head... a real feat considering I was standing behind him at the time. So, why him?

I look at my watch and see that I have a few minutes before the agony begins. Might as well get as much information as possible. As I look at their schedules, a likely scenario forms in my head, although I can't figure out why Timothy would be in trouble... he doesn't _get_ into trouble. I've seen him walk through the halls during class breaks and he always has his head down, his books in front of him as a shield. He doesn't talk, doesn't draw attention to himself... and most of the kids are content to pretend he doesn't exist. _Most_ of them.

_3:02 p.m._

The bell rings and I sigh, wishing that I could beg off detention and claim sports things, but there's nothing going on today. The students who get detention have until 3:15 to show up. If they're even one minute late, they have to do an entire week _before_ school to make up for it. Well, I firmly believe in holding to that rule. If they...

The door creaks open and a frightened face looks for me. I look at my watch. It's only 3:05. How did Timothy get here so fast?

"Coach Schwab?" he asked. "Where's detention today?"

You'd never believe that this kid is a senior... of course, he's a couple of years younger than everyone else, which would do it.

"Room 12, Timothy. I'll be along in a second."

"Could..." he stopped and looked down at his feet in embarrassment. "Could I wait for you?"

My suspicions about bullying are resoundingly confirmed by his anxiety. "Sure. Just let me shut down." I keep my eyes on the monitor and my desk to ease his discomfort. "So, what brings you to my domain today, Timothy?"

There is silence from the teen at the door. I look up and notice for the first time that he is sporting a large shiner and some scrapes on his left cheek. His left hand is also bruised.

"Well?"

"I...I...got... into a fight," he finally admits.

"You _fought_?" I ask, unable to keep the incredulity out of my voice.

He shrugs and looks everywhere but at me. "Yeah."

"With whom?" I ask and marvel at the fact that I, a gym teacher and coach, just uttered a completely grammatical question. It gives me a momentary thrill.

"Just a few guys." He stares at the floor. "They'll be on your list, too."

Which completely explains why he's here waiting for me rather than going to the room the number of which he probably already knew. I finish my last bit of typing and stand up.

"Well, Timothy, let's get this over with, shall we?"

He doesn't answer, but waits for me and follows me down the hall, walking just shy of stepping on my heels. We reach the room quickly and I'm not surprised to see that Jonathan is already there, looking like a kicked dog. He has a shiner, too, I notice. I look at Timothy, scrawny sixteen-year-old kid that he is next to Jonathan. I wouldn't have thought him capable of even getting a swing in. Jonathan is a cornerback and will easily get onto a college team.

"Tolano, you're mine after school tomorrow. Got it?" I say.

He swallows and nods. Timothy won't have to worry about him, at least. If he wants to keep playing football, he'll have to appease me and toe the line for the rest of the year.

"Good. Get in the room and sit down. You, too, Timothy," I add, with less menace.

_3:14 p.m._

One minute before I get the great pleasure of knocking Louis, Jillian and Russell down a few pegs. I would love nothing more than to force them to come to school at 6:30 a.m., especially since I don't run the early morning detentions. They get to deal with Nathan Jenks, the vice principal, for that.

"Hey, Coach, we're here," Louis says nonchalantly as he waltzes into the room, followed by his personal entourage. Jillian has no marks on her that I can see, but Louis and Russell both do. Either Jonathan was actually defending Timothy against this trio (unlikely), or Timothy has more in him than I thought before. Louis sits at a desk and leans back, smiling at Timothy. It is not a friendly smile.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Dietrich. You'll be sitting right here." I point to a seat front and center.

"Why?"

"Because I can make your miserable if you give me any trouble during the next two hours." I smile pleasantly at him and he knows it's no idle threat. The jocks have made it clear to everyone else that I'm not to be trifled with when it comes to detention because I hate it so much. Reluctantly, Louis stands and takes the indicated seat. His minions try to follow him.

"Uh-uh. Brown, you're in the back corner and Jackson, you can sit here by the door. Should there be a fire, you'll be the first one out."

Everyone sits in their assigned seats.

"I want no talking. You are going to sit here for the next two hours without speaking. No noise, nothing. I have no problem with giving you all before-school detentions should you annoy me."

Jonathan raises his hand and I barely manage to hold back my laugh. "What, Tolano?"

"Coach, what should we do?"

I am about to say _nothing_, but I change my mind at the last minute. "You are going to write me an essay." The groans make it all worth it. "I want three pages, explaining to me why you are all here, what you did, and how you are going to make my life one of bliss and contentment by not ever coming back here again. Got it?"

There are a few mumbled _yeah_s, and I notice that Timothy already has paper out. He starts writing furiously, as does Jonathan. The lovely trio I recently separated stare at me incredulously for a few seconds and then follow suit.

"This is stupid," Louis mutters.

"I said _no talking_, Dietrich. That means you keep your mouth closed... unless you can't handle breathing through your nose."

He shuts up and looks at me in annoyance. I smile again and take a seat at the desk in the front of the room.

_4:10 p.m._

"Sir? Coach?" Timothy's timid voice whispers into the dead silence that has reigned for the last hour.

"What, McGee?" I ask. I'm determined to treat him just the same as the others, if for no other reason than to keep him from bearing the brunt of the torment later on.

He swallows nervously as four other pairs of eyes lock onto him. "D-do you want to... um, take this n-now?" He holds up his essay...five pages long. I just manage not to sigh. I should have realized that someone like Timothy would overcompensate.

"Yes, McGee. I'll take it now." I look at the others. "Anyone else done?"

Three hands raise into the air. Only Jillian is unfinished... but, of course, she barely has enough brains in her head to breathe independently; so that's unsurprising. That's the only kind of girl who would want to be with a jerk like Louis anyway. I collect the other boys' essays and return to my desk. "Brown, you can raise your hand when you finish."

"Yes, sir."

I sit at the desk and begin to scan through the essays. After a few minutes, I look from Timothy, sitting by the window, his head down, his fingers tracing the numerous carvings in the desks from earlier occupants, to Louis and then to Russell, both of whom are bored out of their minds. Then, I look to Jonathan. I shake my head in amazement at what is written. Timothy's is brutally honest and probably the only one who has proposed a legitimate solution to the problem at hand.

_4:30 p.m._

"Coach Schwab? I'm done," Jillian says finally.

"Thank you, Jillian," I reply and collect the essay from her. "We still have forty-five minutes left in each other's company, gang. I expect that to be spent in absolute silence. No bathroom breaks, no passing love notes...or hate notes. You sit at those desks and say nothing. I don't want to even catch you guys _looking_ at each other. Got it?"

Another chorus of _yeah_s greet my pronouncement. I scan through Jillian's essay. It is more honest than Russell's which is a piece of crap if ever I saw one. Jonathan's is also honest because he wouldn't dare do otherwise with his coach. Louis' essay is a combination because he's trying to be cool... he just didn't expect it to backfire like it did. I look over at Timothy again, still surprised that he took on three guys at once. Then, I look back down at his essay and read the first sentence again.

_I got angry._

That's all. He was angry. He's been the subject of discussion before, but always because of the ease with which everything seems to roll off him. Timothy never fights back. He just takes it. He never tells. He never lies if asked, but he won't bring it up. Even so, the swirlies, the attempts to force him into lockers, the little digs that have been with him since he was first accelerated, many of them have come to our attention, and it's sad to look at the guys who are popular now because of their bullying compared to this scrawny reject who could dance around them academically with his eyes closed.

_5:15 p.m._

"Okay, guys, the blessed moment is upon us. You are free to leave..." Chairs start to scrape against the floor. "..._but_..." Motion stops. "...if I ever see any of you in here again, if you force me to endure another two hours of this, I will make sure you live to regret, got it?"

"Yes, Coach." "Yes, sir." "Yeah." "Uh-huh." Only Timothy is silent. He hasn't moved since I said anything. The other four leave.

"Timothy, you can go home now."

Timothy's eyes are still on the desk. His fingers are still tracing the gouged lines.

"Timothy?"

He swallows and I see a single tear drip onto the desk. _Uh-oh, trouble ahead._

"My mom's going to kill me for getting detention."

"Well, at least you won't get another one," I say jokingly.

He looks up. "I'm sorry, Coach Schwab." He looks back down and I see another tear fall. "They... I'm just so sick of it. I don't do _anything_, and they just keep on bugging me."

"Is what you wrote in your essay true, Timothy?"

He looks up, affronted that I'd even ask. "Of course, it is."

"So, they were trying to... what?"

He looks back down at the desk, humiliated. "It's just like in middle school... only I don't fit in the lockers anymore. They just push and make it look funny because they can still do it. It's wrong."

"Yes, it is."

"Then, _why_?" he asks, plaintively. "Why won't they just leave me alone?"

"Because you're a threat, Timothy."

He laughs cynically. "Yeah, right, Coach. I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn."

"You hit three guys today."

"Yeah."

"How did you do it?"

Tim looks up at me, his eyes searching for the reason why I'm asking. "They didn't expect it. That's all. I took them by surprise. I kicked the locker and it hit Russ in the face. Jon was closest to me, and I swung at him. Then, I saw Lou standing in front of me and Jillian laughing like she does at whatever Lou thinks is funny. I was mad and I jumped at him."

"So you got detention because you fought back?"

"They didn't swing at me first. I took the first swing. They were just playing a joke. I made it serious." He looks out the window at the darkening sky. "It was my fault. That's why Mom's going to kill me. I never get in trouble. Dad always said that it doesn't do any good to make things worse."

"Timothy, while you didn't make the best decision in the moment, you weren't at fault. If your parents disagree, they can come and talk to me."

"Oh, that's not n-necessary, Coach. There's only a few more months left and then I'll go to college."

I look at Timothy, a little awed at this genius sitting in front of me. "Where? Do you know yet?"

He looks back, a glimmer of quiet pride on his face. It makes him look much older. "I just got accepted to MIT last week."

"Wow. That's something, Timothy. That really is. So, you're going to be the next Bill Gates?" I ask as I stand up, leading him out of the room.

"No," he answers firmly as we walk down the hall.

"What then?"

We come to the place where we go our separate ways and he looks at me once more. "I'm going to work in law enforcement... forensics and stuff like that. I want to be a detective."

For a brief moment, I'm hit with an image of scrawny Timothy McGee telling a perp to put down his weapon. Then, I remember what he did earlier today, what he can do if he wants to.

"Whatever you end up doing, Timothy, you'll be good at it."

The first real smile crosses his face. "Thanks, Coach Schwab."

"If you have any more trouble this year, my door is always open," I say. I'm surprised to find that I mean it.

"Thanks, Coach." Timothy smiles again and runs down to the office, calling to the secretary to wait before she closes the door because he needs to use the phone.

I shake my head a little as I let myself back into my office. Timothy as a police officer. Who would have thought he'd _want_ something like that? He is certainly full of surprises.

I make a mental note to keep track of him, both through the rest of the year and later on. I would love nothing more than to see Timothy McGee reach his goal.


End file.
